On
Tuesday morning he smiled to himself, and wondered whether, if he
were to preach in his own schoolroom the next Sunday evening, anyone
would come to hear him. On Saturday he received a cool letter of
thanks for his services, written by the ironmonger in the name of
the deacons, enclosing a cheque, tolerably liberal as ideas went,
in acknowledgment of them. The cheque Mr Graham returned, saying
that, as he was not a preacher by profession, he had no right to
take fees. It was a half holiday: he walked up to Hampstead Heath,
and was paid for everything, in sky and cloud, fresh air, and a
glorious sunset.
When the end of her troubled week came, and the Sunday of her
expectation brought lovely weather, with a certain vague suspicion
of peace, into the regions of Mayfair and Spitalfields, Clementina
walked across the Regent's Park to Hope Chapel, and its morning
observances; but thought herself poorly repaid for her exertions
by having to listen to a dreadful sermon and worse prayers from Mr
Masquar--one of the chief priests of Commonplace--a comfortable
idol to serve, seeing he accepts as homage to himself all that any
man offers to his own person, opinions, or history. But Clementina
contrived to endure it, comforting herself that she had made a
mistake in supposing Mr Graham preached in the morning.
Pages:
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437